Making the Cut (4 page)

“This round, gentlemen, is on the house!”

Okay, that’s two Budweiser’s, a Gin and Tonic, and a glass of water.

Wichita was a far cry from the quiet town of Marietta, Ohio, but overall I loved it. The wilder the better I have always said.

And, for the most part, I meant it.

AXTON

I slammed the gavel onto the sound block three times. After dozen or so meetings during the club’s inception which had gotten out of hand, the block had been screwed to the table at the end where my seat was positioned.

“I’m calling this meeting to order. Mr. Secretary, have you got anything noteworthy?” I asked.

Fancy flipped through his notepad and traced his finger along the page, “In the last meeting, Kelp made a motion to allow the trade of the old Sporty abandoned years ago in the back lot to the hardware store for Christmas trees, and provide the Christmas trees to the Toys for Tots kids at the ride this fall. It was left that we were unsure as to the value, and whether or not we had legal right to the little Sporty. I checked with the Treasurer, and we had already filed the paperwork for the mechanic’s lien against the Sporty, and it is legally ours to sell or trade. We have the title in the safe. The Treasurer further informed me the value of the bike is roughly $2,200.00. I have my doubts it’ll be worth that much, but $2,200.00 was his response.”

“Second thing, I can’t read my fuckin’ meeting minutes, and my memory is shit, so who stood opposed to making the Fayetteville ride mandatory?”

Jeb raised his hand, “I did.”

“Gotcha. Just needed to make note of it. Hell, I couldn’t read my own writing. That’s all I got,” Fancy sighed.

“Treasurer, where do we stand?” I asked.

“About the same as last time, Slice. $7,402.20 in the club checking, $5,405.00 in the club savings, and $112,500.00 give or take in the safe. We have nothing due out at this point in time,” Mike responded.

“Give or take? What the fuck does that mean? How much is in the fucking safe, Mike?” I asked.

“Close as I can tell Slice, we got a hundred and twelve grand. It’s all banded in $1,000.00 bundles. Then there’s five hundred loose. So, $112,500.00. But I didn’t take time to count all the money in the bands, but there’s a hundred and twelve of ‘em,” Mike shrugged.

I nodded my head, “Good enough.”

During Church, when I spoke, everyone was attentive. Not once could I recall being interrupted or disrespected in any manner. Our meetings were conducted in as professional of a manner as a Motorcycle Club could expect, and how I was personally treated in the meetings was second to none. I had my doubts, however, as to my being able to maintain order while the particular subject up for discussion was being brought to light. I decided to talk fast and pause for comments or remarks after I was finished speaking.

“Alright, listen up fellas. We got us a little situation. I know
I
don’t normally get involved in matters like this, but for this one, I’m going to. I had a meeting with Frank, and he’s got a little deal that needs taken care of. I ain’t lookin’ to go into a bunch of detail on this, because the whole thing makes me sick, but here we go,” I paused and stood from my seat.

“There’s a child molester in town and he’s been making little kids suck his cock; little grade school kids. He made videos of this shit. Cops raided his place on a fucked up search warrant. Bottom line? He’s free and they can’t charge him. They got all the proof, but they can’t use it in court. Frank’s asked us to take care of this guy. I need probably three volunteers. So, it’ll be me and three others. Who will it be?” I hesitated and reached for the rubber band without thinking.

Snap!

The entire room erupted. Every swingin’ dick in the meeting was screaming and hollering
me, me, me
. I shook my head and reached toward the table. Before I got the hammer in my hand, Otis screamed.

“Order, God damn it,” he hollered.

The room fell
close
to silent.

“Order!” Otis screamed.

Silence.

I turned to face Otis and shook my head, “Jesus. I need to get a bike repossessed and I can’t get
one
motherfucker to volunteer. Got us a
ChoMo
to kill and every cocksucker here raises his hand and screams like a fucking kindergartner. Now fuck, there are thirty-two of you fuckers. I need four
total
, and one of them is gonna be
me
. Now how we gonna decide this?”

“I think we ought to draw straws, Slice. Cut twenty seven of them the same, and five shorties. The shorties win,” Tater responded.

I raised my hands in the air in frustration, “Well?”

“I make a motion we draw straws,” Tater growled.

“Second,” someone screamed.

“Who seconded it?” Fancy asked.

“Toad,” Toad screamed from the back of the room.

“All in favor?”

“Aye,” echoed from around the room.

“Opposed?”

Silence.

I pressed my hands into my hips and raised my eyebrows, “Only problem I see is
this
. We ain’t got any fucking straws.”

Following a reasonable amount of groaning and grumbling, Fancy spoke, “I can cut up a few sheets of paper.”

“Well, get to cuttin’ it,” I shrugged.

After a few minutes of dicking around, Fancy produced a hat with wads of paper in it. I looked at him and shook my head in disbelief. As I accepted the hat, I raised it to shoulder height and inhaled a slow breath.

“Listen up. Everyone take one of Fancy’s wads of fucking paper from the hat. The three
short
,” I paused and turned to face Fancy.

He nodded his head.

I turned to face the fellas, “The three
short
pieces get to go. Everyone else, I appreciate your willingness, but this is how we’re doing it.”

As soon as Fancy passed the hat around the room, everyone began to compare paper strips. It would stand to reason Fancy would have made the short lengths of paper
significantly
shorter than the rest, but he didn’t. Leave it up to the Secretary to cut a half inch off of an eleven inch strip of paper. After ten minutes of comparison, Otis, Tater, and Toad were the
winners
. I couldn’t have picked a better crew if I had selected them myself.

“Alright, Otis, Toad, and Tater are the winners of this fiasco. You three stay after Church, and we’ll discuss details. Now,
rides
. Saturday’s ride is
mandatory
just in case any of you forgot. We’ll meet here at seven in the morning, and head out to Wichita at eight. First bike out is at nine. That’ll give us plenty of time. After the ride, maybe we’ll hit a few bars. Any
new business
need discussed?”

Otis looked around the room, and turned to face me, “I got one thing, Slice.”

“Well, let’s hear it,” I grumbled.

Otis widened his eyes and began to speak, “
Pete’s Ol’ Lady
came in here the other day, and was turned away. He didn’t say anything to
me
, but I’ve heard some shit talking floating around about how I treated her when I escorted her off the lot. Seems Pete ain’t lookin’ to take it up with me, so maybe a refresher of the bylaws are in order. What do ya think?”

After placing emphasis on
Pete’s Ol’ Lady
, Otis’ voice quieted to a normal gravely tone. It was apparent he wanted to call Pete out in front of the fellas, but it wasn’t necessary for
him
to do so. It was
my
job
.

I scanned the room and crossed my arms in front of my chest as I made eye contact with Pete. Forty years old and an ex-con, Pete looked the part of a white supremacist. Tall and muscular, his head was clean shaven and littered with tattoos. Although his head was shaved, he had twelve inches of beard that hung from his chin, making him appear to be more at home on the yard in prison than in the free world. As our eyes locked, I clenched my jaw and flexed my biceps, “God damn, fellas. We’ve got the bylaws posted up here on the wall for a fucking reason. I know there ain’t one of you motherfuckers able to
remember
them all, so I posted ‘em up here for you to make reference to. Now Pete, you see the bylaws up on the wall?”

“Yep,” he grunted.

“See the part at the very bottom of the board on the right marked
Ol’ Ladies
?” I asked as I turned around to face the bylaws.

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

“Read it to me if you will,” I said.

“All of it, Slice?” he grumbled.

“All of it,” I nodded as I turned to face him.

My position on Ol’ Ladies wasn’t shared by the rest of the club. I believed if the club wanted members to have Ol’ Ladies, they’d have one sewn onto the front of their
cut
when they became patched in. In my opinion, Ol’ Ladies were a pain in the ass and a risk to the welfare of club. I hadn’t had an Ol’ Lady since high school, and the chance of that ever changing was absolutely impossible. Every problem man has on this earth begins and ends with women.

Pete stared up at the bylaws and drew a slow breath. After a momentary study of the board, he pulled against his beard and began to read.

“
Ol' Ladies.
One
, don't fuck around with another member’s
Ol' Lady.
Two
, Ol’ Lady
Property Of
patches will be voted on by all eligible members of the club. One hundred percent vote or she doesn’t wear it.
Sidenote
: as
Property Of
patches are
optional
, be sure before you touch some chick who isn’t wearing a patch.
Three
, members are responsible for their Ol' Lady.
Four
, members may have more than one Ol ' Lady.
Five
, member must state who his Ol' Lady is.
Six
, no, your Ol’ Lady isn’t allowed in the meetings.
Seven
, club business is
club
business. Do not discuss club business with Ol’ Ladies.
Eight
,” he paused and exhaled.

After inhaling a short breath, he ran his fingers though the twelve inches of scruffy beard dangling over his chest and read the last rule, “
Eight
, Ol' Ladies are allowed unescorted at the clubhouse only by prior arrangement by their Ol’ Man. Arrangement can only be made by placing an “X” beside your name on the board.
No exceptions
.”

“Damn fine job, Pete. Now, let me ask you something. You see your name on the membership board behind me?” I asked.

“Yep,” Pete grunted.

I didn’t bother to turn around and look. I knew we wouldn’t be having this conversation if he had an “X” by his name.

“Is there an “X” by your name, Pete?” I asked sarcastically.

Seeming somewhat aggravated, Pete rubbed his bald head with the palms of his hands, “No, Slice, there sure as fuck ain’t.”

“So, was Otis out of line when he escorted your Ol’ Lady off the premises?” I asked as I flexed my biceps again.

“Slice, it wasn’t that he escorted her off, it was
how
he did it. He took her by the arm to the gate, and when she bitched, he told her to
get the fuck off the property
or he’d kick her ass,” Pete complained.

I uncrossed my arms and raised my right hand to my chin, “Well, Pete. If you didn’t put a fucking “X” by your name, Otis was of the opinion you didn’t want your Ol’ Lady in here. Otis’ job is to protect the members of this here club, and protect us he damned sure does. Keepin’ some nosy assed Ol’ Lady out of this clubhouse is the Sergeant at Arm’s fucking job, and Otis
is
the Sergeant at Arm’s. If you don’t want her here, Otis doesn’t want her here. And, if Otis doesn’t want her here, and she won’t leave, I’d expect Otis to knock her fucking teeth out if he needed to; to protect the club and all. Now, let me have a look up on the board, and see if you want your Ol’ Lady here.”

I turned slowly toward the board behind me which listed all of the officers and full patched members. Pete’s name, as he had stated, did not have an “X” beside it in the
Ol’ Lady Allowed
column. I stared at the board and shrugged, “Nope, Pete. It says up on the board you don’t want her in here.”

I turned toward Otis and smiled, “Good lookin’ out, Otis. Next time she gets mouthy, if Pete hasn’t put an “X” on the board by his name, bust out a tooth or two. Maybe she’ll get the hint.”

I leaned over and placed my hands on the edge of the table, “Any
old business
?”

Silence.

“Otis, Tater, and Toad stick around. Other than that,
meeting adjourned
,” I barked as I tapped the gavel on the sound block. 

After the room cleared out, the four of us sat down at the table. The remaining members either went into the shop, hung around drinking beer in the parking lot, or rode off to who knows where. As the three members sat and stared at the walls, I interrupted the silence with the morbid truth about what we were facing.